


I am become Death

by sempainope



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Knights of Ren - Freeform, Love Triangles, M/M, Multi, Period-Typical Sexism, Rogue One Spoilers, Sexual Content, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 16:43:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9193910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sempainope/pseuds/sempainope
Summary: A Knights of Ren/Rogue One AU fic and Andor, Bodhi, Erso centric.Why the Supreme Leader had insisted on these particular humans for the project was insight into a wisdom that far surpassed the Rogue’s comprehension. It wasn’t deemed necessary information for them to know, and she had never bothered to ask. It hardly seemed important.





	

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS AHEAD
> 
> Thanks to this fan theory: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y4QOpYMsFXQ and my resistance to accepting the deaths of the characters I fell in love with within two hours, came this fic. Though Rogue One is probably my favorite of the new Star Wars movies, I was a little let down that the terrible fate that the trailers alluded to (Saw Gerrera's "What will you do when they catch you? What will they become?") didn't come to pass. I freely acknowledge that I'm a terrible person (also, maybe, a bit of a sadist), for wanting them to be captured and turned to the dark side. 
> 
> I also freely acknowledge that I don't know all the ins and outs and finer details of the Star Wars universe. It's been years since I read any of the Star Wars novels but the love has never gone away. There will be tweaks as I work. The only thing I know for certain at this point, is where the story is going and that it is Rook, Andor, and Erso centric. Haha, please bear with me. Also, feel free to visit me on tumblr and chat with me: https://sempainope.tumblr.com/. I may be needing a betareader...

It had come again; intangible, pure, more real than real, and horrible. Heat; unending and suffocating, rolled over her and crushed the air from her lungs. There was nothing she could see, nothing she could hear, beyond the roar of her blood in her ears. The first time she had told one of their keepers about the dream, he had reassured her that the mind made up all sorts of things. Meditation and focusing on training would help, he had said, but years of both of those things had not diminished the visions. If anything, she wondered if they were becoming more real. Even now, hours and hours from waking, she felt her skin prickle in anticipation of the heat.

“Miss?” The blue-skinned owner of the inn they sat in smiled expectantly at her from behind the counter of the bar. The Rogue blinked her impossible dream away, realizing belatedly that the innkeeper’s serving droid had rolled up to her and parked itself at her side. The tray clipped to the unit’s body held a fogged glass pitcher, the contents turning the glass a milky green. Judging from how the liquid was completely still in the glass, the droid had been sitting there waiting for her decision for at least a little while. The Rogue’s companion chuckled quietly, his deep brown eyes steady on her face as if he’d been watching her for a time, too.

“I think we have both had more than enough,” He said, his amusement threaded through his soft voice. His face turned towards the innkeeper, though his eyes lingered on her face for a moment more.

The Rogue ignored him and favored the blue-skinned woman a small smile, bobbing her head slightly in agreement. As if she would allow herself to become intoxicated on mission. The muscles around her lips felt stiff and she wondered if it was as obviously insincere as it felt. If it was, the innkeeper missed it and the droid...well, it was a serving droid. The creature beeped in comprehension and rolled back towards the pantry room. It swiveled its head back to look at them again, as if giving them a last chance to change their mind before disappearing past the pantry door.

It had taken them twenty-three days, _twenty-three days_ of talking and negotiating and making pleasantries, to narrow down the location. Saying that it had been painful and a stretch of her skills would be an understatement. Now, with the target so close, the Rogue felt her mask of warmth and humanity giving way to her impatience. Those extroverted characteristics that made infiltration easy: charisma, a bubbly sense of humor, friendliness; they just weren’t in her nature, if they ever had been.

Of all of their rank, the Rogue never managed to blend in as well or for as long as the others. They were all of them, perfect, near-exact replicas of some long-forgotten human war heroes but something about her unnerved people. The Sniper claimed it was her eyes that gave it away. How they were flat and hungry as a colo claw fish most of the time. The Heavy had been more prosaic about it and had chalked it up to the alterations and additions that had been made to their genetic sequence. There had been almost nothing left of the sources for their genetic templates and some human traits were inherently undesirable to the Supreme Leader to begin with, so the Kaminoans had filled in the gaps and tweaked what existed to order.

Why the Supreme Leader had insisted on these particular humans for the project was insight into a wisdom that far surpassed the Rogue’s comprehension. It wasn’t deemed necessary information for them to know, and she had never bothered to ask. It hardly seemed important.

Rising up, the Rogue looked over the inside of the inn and meandered towards one of the four narrow windows set in the rounded inn walls. The road was just visible in the dying sunlight, a thin silver-blue ribbon winding over the lush, hilled land. It was clear and empty, and in the distance, the soft glow of the closest colony flickered like a candle. It was more than two hours from the inn by foot but with all the quiet of the countryside, blaster fire would probably carry.

That was fine; blasters weren’t the Rogue’s favorite short-range weapon anyways. Her thumb slid along the top of the belt strapped around her waist before hooking above the handle of her nightstick.

There were strict laws in this region of space, laws fueled by some sort of ridiculous, rabid cultish fervor and the collective unhealed trauma from the Empire’s occupation that prevented the presence of any non-indigenous military presence or bounty hunters from roaming without close observation. That had ruled out their life-sustaining armor in favor for something that, unfortunately, screamed tourist and traveler. The Rogue had been quick to protest but as the Knights and this mission weren’t supposed to exist, it was unavoidable. It had also been a direct order, so. That had settled that.

The Armory’s dark khaki green tunic was the cheap, common kind that could be found at most trading posts with long sleeves and enough folds and pockets to hide all sorts of useful things. The black, high-necked, and long sleeved shirt that the tunic was wrapped over was made of a more expensive and deceptively tough knife-resistant fabric, but a person would have to be looking for that particular detail to notice it. His pants, leg wraps, and shoes were black and all looked to be of the same trading post origin as the shirt.

Weapons were also highly regulated, which meant the most deadly thing the Armory had on his person was a single law-congruent stun pistol, and a crescent-bladed knife hanging off of the utility belt cinched around his middle. The several vials of poison discreetly tucked out of sight were somewhat less legal but they had no intention of staying on this planet past the midnight hour.

The Armory’s dark hair hung loose about his head in a thick, heavy fall that reached his shoulders. It was hardly regulation nor very practical in a fight, but it suited him. The short facial hair that framed the Armory’s mouth and swept up his jaw bone kept his features from appearing too much younger than his twenty-two years and brought balance to the pronounced bridge of his nose and hollowed cheeks. The warm tone of his brown skin easily hid the fact that he wasn’t often exposed to sunlight, quite unlike the Rogue’s. And with his large, friendly eyes that drew people in and a face that leant itself best to smiling, the pair might as well be night and day. That approachability was something the Rogue used to be jealous of for the attention it brought him, but she had ultimately learned to play to her strengths.

The Rogue had brought no weapons aside from herself and a more tame nightstick than the one that usually accompanied her. It hung openly at her waist over a knee-length gray tunic and a twin of the black, stab-resistant shirt that the Armory wore. Her own cinnamon brown hair had been pulled back into no-nonsense braid that had then been twisted into itself and pinned as a bun at the back of her head.

There wasn’t a trace of rouge on her lips or kohl around her eyes, something that the Sniper had pestered her for not caring about. When he hadn’t let up, she rewarded him with a quick sweep of her leg to knock the Sniper’s out from under him and send him crashing heavily down onto the floor. Though the memory of his stunned expression and how he had rubbed at his bruised tailbone brought amusement to the Rogue, she couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he hadn’t been completely wrong.

A little makeup might have actually made her more approachable...but probably not. If it wasn’t her “colo-claw-fish-eyes” and standoffish demeanor that put strangers off, her sharp tongue inevitably cut away any amicable connections with would-be allies. The knowledge that they had managed at the inn for the past several hours without her offending anyone wasn’t much of a consolation.

The inn wasn’t particularly large to begin with but the Armory and the Rogue were its sole guests. The upper floor housed four rooms to let out to guests while the main floor served as a modest eatery and watering hole for the locals. A place like this probably got more than enough business but it was the off-season now, and the cusp of the second harvest which meant the only people traveling were those who absolutely had to. The inn itself would be closed in another day or two until the cold season was over and planting was complete. It was unlikely anyone would be stumbling in on them.

The Rogue tapped her fingers impatiently along the handle of her nightstick as she started to calculate their odds of being interrupted, then dismissed the thought before it was complete. If the Armory had done his job and the Sniper was currently doing his, it would be impossible.

“I’m sorry, but we must impose even further on you,” The Rogue said suddenly. Her voice was rough and slightly hoarse from disuse, an unpleasant contrast to the calm ease that filled the room. “We were directed here by some mutual friends. We were told you help people find what they’re looking for. Things from the war against the Empire.”

The Armory moved his arms from where he had them leaning against the tabletop to drop one casually across his lap and within easy reach of a quick draw of his stun gun. The other he braced on the bench he sat on as he looked between the Rogue and the innkeeper with nothing more than polite curiosity on his face. He was still planning on getting what they needed without violence. That was not a priority for the Rogue.

The tense moment of silence that followed the Rogue’s words erased any remaining doubt she had as to whether they had the right target. Tension drew the innkeeper’s posture ruler-straight behind the counter of the bar and her lips thinned.

Did the innkeeper know she was prey? If she didn’t, she would find out very quickly. A thrill tickled up the Rogue’s spine and she licked her dry lips in anticipation.

“I don’t. Not anymore.” The Innkeeper said shortly. “Not for years.”

The Armory’s head tilted minutely towards the door to the pantry in an unspoken warning. The droid had returned to the entrance to the main hall, surveying the scene unfolding before it in silence. The Rogue nodded slightly; she’d destroy it soon enough but her focus was on their target.

“I’m just an innkeeper. I don’t want trouble,” She said, raising her voice. One of the Rogue’s eyebrows quirked at the foolishness of the act. Undoubtedly, the innkeeper hoped that someone would hear her but the roads were as empty as the inn nearly was.

“Then indulge us a little. You said years, but our mutual friends said you helped move some Imperial relics six weeks ago. That’s a bit short of the years you say it’s been since you were involved in any smuggling.” The warm smile that had first come to the Armory’s face when the innkeeper had offered them more to drink had never left. Only now, it was twisted into something considerably more focused and less inviting.

The Rogue’s heart skipped when she saw the sweat beading across the woman’s forehead and she slid her fingers around the fabric-bound handle of her weapon.

 _Prey,_ the Rogue’s blood sang with excitement, _unworthy prey._

Fear tightened the innkeeper’s lips and the Rogue’s eyes measured her, waiting. Would the innkeeper run? There was nowhere to go.  
No, judging from how the Chiss had drawn closer to the countertop of the bar and had been moving her arms in tiny, stiff motions beneath the counter, she probably had a weapon trained on them at that very moment.

Good. The Rogue preferred an open fight.

_Inhale, exhale...Inhale, exhale..._

_Inhale-_ A burst of red blaster fire exploded through the thin front board of the counter but the Rogue was ready for it.

In a blur of motion, the Rogue swung aside and closed the distance between them. Her nightstick swung up and the metal-capped end smashed across the woman’s mouth with enough force to send her spinning to the floor. Blood spattered the floor in a spray and the Rogue bared her teeth in a predatory grin.

A sudden, shrill siren-like tone raised loud enough to rattle the teeth in their heads and stole the flush of victory from the Rogue.

The damned droid-!

The windows shuddered in their frames, cracks starting to splinter out along the panes. The Armory had clapped his hands over his ears in an ineffective attempt to dampen the piercing shrill; his stun gun still clutched in one hand. None of his weapons would be effective against the metal creature. In a single motion, the Rogue twisted the handle to electrify the lower end of the shaft and turned to deal with the droid. Her weapon wasn’t ideal for disabling it, but-

Behind the Rogue, glass dust and twisted metal shrapnel exploded out from where a window once was. She grit her teeth against the sudden flash of heat she felt across her cheek as the first blaster bolt passed her and slammed into the droid’s eye lenses. Another bolt blasted into the body of the droid, shearing straight through it’s plating to fry the circuits and cut off its screams. Steam and chemical vapor curled up from the droid, filling the air with the acrid smell of burning plasteel and circuitry but it was silent.

_Kriffing hell._

The Rogue cast a glowering look out the shattered window and into the darkness. Subtlety was clearly off the table, but the innkeeper and her droid had seen to that.

Hopping the counter, the Armory landed lightly beside the innkeeper and kicked the blaster out of reach. Placing a booted foot on the innkeeper’s shoulder, he shoved her onto her back.

The nightstick had knocked three of the Chiss’ teeth clean free, cracked several others, and from the blood and saliva that oozed out from her lips, she’d probably bitten into her tongue, too. The Rogue’s nose wrinkled at the sight, not at all trying to hide her amused disgust at her own handy work.

“Well that was foolish of you,” The Armory commented as he glanced back at the smoldering droid. When the innkeeper let out a moan, he looked back down. Dropping weightlessly into a crouch that would have made most knees creak, the Armory placed the flat of his dagger under the innkeeper’s chin.

“Focus.” When the innkeeper’s disoriented gaze wandered, he tapped the flat of the blade against the innkeeper’s lower jaw. It wasn’t hard enough to really hurt but it definitely got the woman’s attention.

“I have connections-! High up friends that will come after you for this!!” She spat, blood from her broken teeth staining her blue lips purple.

“We’re ghosts, my friend,” The Armory replied as the Rogue moved in closer. His voice was gentle but confident. “No one can catch ghosts. Now, you were just telling us about those Imperial relics...”

The innkeeper’s resolve broke fast, certainly faster than her femur did, but the Armory and the Rogue were nothing if not thorough and there would be no stopping until they had agreed they knew everything.


End file.
